OK, so it's just a few days past when I said I would spill the news, right? Life, that big, crazy thing we call life, got in the way a little. Here's the deal: I've quit my crappy, demeaning job, gave notice on my apartment, sold my car, got a newer, more fabulous job, signed the lease on a newer, more fabulous apartment, and am moving to San Francisco in two weeks. How awesome is that? The Peanut and I are so excited about this move that we can barely contain ourselves. Our days are spent perusing the internet for news of what's happening in our new city, calling each other at work and saying, "Can you believe how much there is to do? What will we do on June 15th...see The Roots or go to the opening of that new wine bar?". It's unreal. We are both city kids, and have lived in our little hamlet of Santa Barbara for almost four years. It's time.
So. My job. I wish I could easily summarize how bad my job had gotten over the past six months or so. It's no small task, but here are the highlights: My C.O.O. (to be known in this tale as The Soulless Bitch) had taken to hurling awful, hateful, really personal insults at me, and then telling them to other people in management as a humorous anecdote over dinner. Insults that had absolutely nothing to do with my job performance, mind you. She had also made incredibly racist, small-minded comments to my manager, and then essentially threatened her job if she told anyone, in so many words. There were people being fired in my company, left and right, for seemingly no reason, which of course resulted in everyone on my team walking through the workday on eggshells, terrified that they may be next. My manager's response to all of this was to pull me into her office on a weekly basis to both cry on my shoulder and then tell me how much The Soulless Bitch hated me. Neat, huh? Our corporate office, which is based in Dallas, decided in January that we had far too much freedom in our office here, so they set up "guidelines" for the recruiters. These "guidelines" were nothing more than quotas, and if you failed to meet any one of them, you were to be put on a performance review plan. Find yourself on a performance review plan two quarters in a row? Later, baby. This resulted in my manager having to micromanage to the point were she was literally looking over my shoulder most days. I mean, literally in my office, behind my chair, checking out what I was doing. Finally, during my annual performance review, the straw? Crashed right through the camel's back. I never, ever worried about my reviews. I have always "exceeded expectations", and I have always walked away with a little more money. This time, The Soulless Bitch basically ordered my boss to give me a shit review, and not give me a raise. I marched back to my office (this, on March 24), called The Peanut, and asked him if he was ready to make a move (well, once I stopped sobbing and cursing and throwing things. Thank god I have a door to my office, huh?). There are another three people preparing to quit in the next few weeks, and then a few more who are looking. I would say I wish to be a fly on the wall when that shit goes down and the office falls apart, but really, just knowing is enough.
I didn't like what this job had turned me into. I didn't like that I had become one of those people who couldn't leave work at the office. I had been lying awake most nights, either thinking of everything I needed to do the next day to avoid being fired, or having imaginary conversations with The Soulless Bitch. Either way, I was too tired most days to hang out after work with friends, or go to the gym at lunch. I stopped taking care of myself and was consumed with what my job had done to my life. I stopped writing in this space. I was reading less, listening to music less, having less fun, generally. It had to stop. Tomorrow is my last day. One of my fellow recruiters, whom I am going to miss terribly, is taking me out for sushi and perhaps, sake. Some co-workers are getting me a strawberry whipped cream cake from the most fabulous bakery in Santa Barbara. I've heard a rumor that there is a gift certificate for a spa day floating around with my name on it. Best of all? The Soulless Bitch is out of the office tomorrow. I'm vowing to walk out of there on a high note.